Honeymoon? It’s been hours since he’d said it, but my brain still cannot process the change. Isn’t sex an enormous part of a honeymoon? I’d hidden in my room for hours after the yoga episode. I had to pray for strength because I was moments from throwing all my plans out the window. Oran knows the right buttons to push to send me to a cold bath. He’s arousing and frustrating, and after hours of hiding, I miss him.
Fuck my life.
Pulling on my big girl panties, I leave my sanctuary to venture into the house.
“You must really like your room,” he muses the moment I enter the kitchen.
“Well, since it’s my same room in a new place, I’d say we’re familiar.”
“I’m glad you’re comfortable.” My flinch when he pulls me close, tickles him.
Oran gently cups my face and delivers one of those in between kisses. It lingers more than a peck, but isn’t meant to start anything more.
“What?” he teases. “I can’t greet my missus with a kiss? I ordered us pizza for dinner. We’re about to Netflix.”
“We are?” I question, not sure where this is going.
“Yes.” His smile is sweet and lacks an agenda. I don’t trust it.
I like this version of him. Calm and casual. His near-black hair falls in his face a little without product. Oran’s gray henley shirt enhances his eye color, giving me a glimpse of the little specks of color that aren’t always visible in his grouchy moments. Better, I have access to the hints of this chest hair teasing me through the open buttons. He hums when I tease that area.
“What’s with movie night?”
“Not movie night, Trophy.” He plants soft kisses on my nose and the corners of my mouth. “We have to find our show.”
Excitement I’d never thought I’d feel at such a simple statement hums through my body, manifesting into a smile that hurts my cheeks.
“You want to have a show, you closet softie?” I rib him as I enjoy the richness of his laugh.
“Shut up, Trophy. I just don’t want you embarrassing me when we go on this trip. I have a rep to protect. Don’t get too comfortable and pick some girly frou-frou shit. I’ll change my mind.”
I follow him to the couch, much too giddy about our entwined fingers as he leads me into the living room. We sink into the couch and I’m surprised again when he wraps his arm around my shoulder and tucks me into his side. I inhale deeply, loving his scent.
“Stop sniffing me you freak and pick a damn show.”
I poke his side and mumble my thoughts of his jackassness.
“Ooh, look! New episodes of Outlander.”
“Out what?”
“Outlander, it’s based on a book about a woman who served as a British army nurse and when she went to Scotland with her husband on their Honeymoon, she was sent back in time…”
“Paaasss!” He jumps up to grab the pizza when our doorbell chimes.
I wait while he gathers napkins and beverages, then pick up where we left off when he returns.
“Humor me, watch the first episode.” I flip open the box and stare at the toppings for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” Oran studies me as he grabs a slice.
“Pineapple pepperoni.”
“It’s what you like, right?”
“It’s my favorite.”
Oran stops chomping to look at me. “Then what’s the problem?”